


Next Time

by QueSeraph



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Fighting, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Torture, Weird fight club hookup thing, breaking bones, fistfighting, seriously messed up folks I don't know what to tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22697719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraph/pseuds/QueSeraph
Summary: To the winner goes the spoils. Unluckily for Will, he never seems to be able to win. Luckily for Hannibal, Will is the spoils.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32
Collections: Hannigram Pieces





	Next Time

They meet in the same place every time, a small abandoned shack in the middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere. A perfect little piece of hell.

They never wear exercise clothes, just their regular ones, even though they never fail to tear and smear with blood. Hannibal removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, taking a loose boxing position.

Will is younger, with more energy, but fueled by rage that makes him vulnerable, rendering him clumsy and impulsive and stupid with his own anger and fear. He almost always starts first, throwing himself at Hannibal in a rush, arms flung out to the side. He fights like an animal, kicking and spitting and hissing, all claws and teeth and uncoordinated punches with fists fractured on each knuckle.

Hannibal circles him like prey at first, hands up, heartbeat even. The soft grunts as Will dives in, catching a fist under his guard and slamming him in the stomach. Hannibal’s arms go down to protect himself but Will manages to swing an arm around and knock him across the jaw, splitting his lip. Will must have had a frustrating week.  
It feels like Will’s winning for a while, his abundant energy and rage.  
Hannibal blocks two more of Will’s jabs and catches him in a headlock, holding him tight to his own body. Will fights wildly, clawing at his arm and throwing blind jabs at Hannibal’s stomach, but he doesn’t have enough room to pull his arms back enough to cause any real damage, so Hannibal holds him like that for a while like a child throwing a tantrum, letting him tire himself out. When Will’s struggles start to slow, Hannibal throws him to the ground and wedges the toe of his dress shoe in between his ribs. Another kick misses as Will rolls to the side across the filthy floor and scrambles to his feet, head down and shoulder forwards to barrel into Hannibal, bringing them both to the floor with Will on top. With the heel of his hand Hannibal breaks Will’s nose and knees him in the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of Will, and rises to his feet as the younger man gasps for breath on the floor.  
It’s a slaughter from there, Hannibal’s punches hard and accurate working over Will’s face long after he stops resisting, eyes beginning to swell shut and split fat lip drooling blood and staining his teeth red.  
Hannibal pulls off his belt with a flourish and Will whimpers softly on the ground. He knows what’s next. His wrists are bound with the belt, knotted thickly and securely, then hung on the thick silver hook in the middle of the ceiling, suspended on it defenseless with his arms above his head and feet just high enough to not be able to touch the floor.  
Hannibal works over his body like a carcass in a meat locker. Neat, meticulous, methodical. He’s kind this time and leaves some ribs unbroken, some teeth unloosened in his jaw, doesn’t break an ankle or knee his groin, just lands merciless punches over and over again until Will clings to consciousness only by a shred.  
He releases him with no gentleness and Will falls to his hands and knees, panting and dripping blood from his mouth and a gash by his eye. He crawls towards Hannibal broken, meek as a lamb. He tries to stand but slides, falling to his knees, and looks at Hannibal’s shoes.  
“Okay,” he croaks, his throat bruised from the headlock and at least three ribs shattered from the pounding.  
Hannibal’s hand is heavy on his head but cards through his blood-matted curls adoringly.  
“Okay?”  
Will nods weakly and Hannibal tips his chin up for him, fisting a handful of hair to keep him that way while he unzips himself.  
Will sucks his cock quietly and without passion, doing all the work himself. He has to pull away to breathe often, his nose filled with blood, but Hannibal is always so patient, never chides, never comments.  
When he cums he gives no warning but Will is expected to swallow. He doesn’t know what would happen if he didn’t, but he never finds out. He sucks him clean and drops back onto his heels while Hannibal tucks himself in. He’s dragged by his hair to the little wooden chair in the corner but Hannibal doesn’t let him fall forwards in it, looming above him and cradling his face gently instead. Will can’t see much, vision blurring and eyes unfocused, and he stares numbly up at Hannibal’s impassive face, veiled in shadows. He closes his eyes and his hands twitch in their bindings, body spasming when Hannibal pulls his fist back and punches him across the face as hard as he has any other time, knocking Will out of consciousness.

He wakes up in the same place he always does, being stitched and stapled back together in Hannibal’s basement. When he comes to Hannibal is standing over him again with the same emotionless face as he sews Will’s lip back together, but Will can feel his quiet, proud sense of accomplishment as if he was humming with contentment.  
After all, Hannibal never loses.  
A cup of water is tipped to his lips and he drinks thirstily. Hannibal takes away the cup and he blinks his heavily lidded eyes, still swollen and purple.  
“Next time.” He rasps out, as sure as he was the last time and the time before that and every other time since the fights began.  
Hannibal smiles indulgently, tucking an errant curl behind his ear.  
“Of course.”


End file.
